<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>the bohemian of montmartre by orphan_account</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27557824">the bohemian of montmartre</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stray Kids (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adventure, Homophobia, Humor, M/M, Romance, THIS WAS ORIGINALLY SUPPOSED TO BE POSTED IN MAY BUT MY MOTIVATION &lt;&lt;&lt;, based on an idea i got off from twitter hihi, bc in da 19th century homosexuality was still frowned upon, binsung aint here because theyre a whole other breed aha &lt;3, but the characters are different, creds at the start, im sorry binsung ily :'(, ohh this is a late 19th century novel btw !, pla watch out for future tags as i go along this novel!, pls i grow impatient every time i write the chapters bc i wanna get to the good stuff !!!, this is also a piece for nanowrimo !!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:01:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,980</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27557824</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>wherein yang jeongin has a passion to become the scholar that his family aspires him to be, but his life turns upside down when his acceptance letter to oxford lands in the hands of a bohemian in montmartre.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hwang Hyunjin/Yang Jeongin | I.N</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. the letter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>a huge thank you to <a href="https://twitter.com/jjhwgi345/status/1260922369486589952?s=20"> gio </a> for sparking up this wonderful idea! i took the liberty to write this despite it being november and your idea was made in may </p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The cool and crisp parchment feels like fire underneath Jeongin’s fingers as he exits the fifth arrondissement. He had just received a telegram from the Place de la Sobornne’s local postman about some great news that he’s been waiting for since the day he took the examination paper, and the fine Oxford ink was no more than a giveaway to the spontaneous news he was about to unravel under the paper. This is it, he thinks, trying to pry his eyes off the letter for one second to focus on the pavements. If I open this letter, I will finally see my name in the center. I will finally be qualified for Oxford! </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oxford has always been a dream university for Jeongin, ever since he was merely a boy of fifteen, fresh into high school. He had seen his stepbrother proclaim the good news to his dear parents about his entrance into one of the biggest universities of the eighteenth century, and to see the delighted smiles and joyous laughter on his mother and father’s faces as they hugged their talented eldest, it drove Jeongin into succeeding his own trials and tribulations. Oh, he could only imagine the look on his parents’ faces when he arrived back home. They would prepare a feast; all the handmaidens and butlers would dance around tables garnishing spices and herbs on freshly cooked meat and mashed potatoes, desserts of Jell-O and eclairs would decorate the cutlery beside the lines of visitors just coming to congratulate the Bang’s youngest son on his journey well-done. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could imagine the proud smile of his stepfather and the warmth of his stepmother’s hug, enrapturing him with compliments and praises that he had been working hard for ever since his stepbrother inspired him to excel. Jeongin was ready to prove the entire Parisian arrondissement that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>will </span>
  </em>
  <span>become a successful scholar, marked with Oxfordian knowledge, and basked in all of London’s pride. He just knew he would make the whole of France proud--if not France, the whole of Paris.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stopping on his heels, he managed to make it just around Palais de Luxembourg to indulge himself in the letter resting atop his palms. With shaky fingers, Jeongin wastes no time in tearing the waxed insignia of the prestigious university and unfolds the parchment, grazing his eyes over the cursive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To our highly-esteemed Mr. and Mrs. Bang, </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We are delighted to inform you that your youngest son, Yang Jeongin, has been accepted into Oxford University under impressive and high-excelling results from both his progress in The Place de la Sorbonne and in his entrance examination into The Oxford University. It is with great honor to have your son as a proud scholar of the Oxfordian community, and we would hereby request to have your son's arrival in London by the 30th of August, 1845. We hope to see him then. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sincerely, Oxford University </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is it. This is all Jeongin needed to hear so that he could burst into a happy cry and flail his arms to the sky, proclaiming to the whole of Luxembourg about his acceptance into his dream university. He could already taste the victory food back home, hear the praises of his aunts and uncles about the Bang’s youngest son becoming a scholar yet again, feel the warmth and pride of his family on him as he sits on the center of the table, proud and tall. Just they wait. Jeongin was going to give them the happiest news of their lives.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t even register the parchment flying off his fingers before he catches the wind carrying over his head. His momentary daydreaming comes to a stop and he lets out a frightened scream when he sees his only chance of a future scholar being swooped away from his very eyes. Chasing after the piece of parchment, it was almost like Jeongin ran across the river bank and three arrondissements before he found himself at the front of Cl</span>
  <span>é</span>
  <span> des Souvenirs, a shabby and bohemian cafe which Jeongin later learned was part of the eighteenth arrondissement, in Montmartre. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jeongin’s in disbelief when he stares back down at the porch, and finds that the parchment is gone from his sight. “No...” he whispers, and darts across the entire street for that stupid paper. He knew he should’ve just revealed the news back home. Why did he have to waste his curiosity away on some street that barely even knew him? Furthermore, why did he let his pride get to himself and daydream of the neverending possibilities of a better life? He knows that wandering past Montmartre was bad news enough for his family, and if they find out he’s been wandering past the river banks for some piece of paper proving his worth to the Bang family, then an Oxford appeal wouldn’t be enough. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>God, why did you have to be so stupid?! </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Looking for this?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Jeongin turns around from where he knelt dramatically in the middle of the road, he finds a man perhaps a year older than him with the most charming smile and the brightest eyes anybody has ever seen. A mole laid underneath his left eyelid, and his black hair was swept back from the breeze, allowing Jeongin to see the rest of him. He was handsome, needless to say, and if it weren’t for the amounts of rings displayed on his fingers, the scarf hung loosely on both sides of his white button-down tucked in with a pair of olive trousers, Jeongin might’ve mistaken him for an aristocrat or even royalty, not a bohemian. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“T-Thank you…” Bashful, Jeongin retrieves the stubborn parchment from the bohemian’s hands and tucks it safely inside his trenchcoat. He stands abruptly, pats the dirt off his slacks, and while he tidies himself from the embarrassment he must’ve caused in front of a few people, the bohemian takes a good look at him from the strand of his hair to the soles of his shoes. “Hm,” the bohemian starts, “you don’t look like you’re from around here. Are you part of the bourgeoisie class?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just a tad bit annoyed at how fishy the bohemian was acting towards him, Jeongin huffs and straightens his posture, swatting his scarf over his neck so that it hits the man on his pretty little face. “Indeed. Thank you, bohemian, for retrieving my letter. I shall be on my way now.” He takes confident steps away from the man (who figures is actually taller than him, but Jeongin doesn’t have the time to gloat over his height), but stops just five tracks from where he once stood, taking in the unfamiliar landscape he was in. He’s lost. He wonders how his parchment managed to land in Montmartre, and on another note, he wonders how he even had the willpower to run all the way here just for some letter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While the stalls and buildings are aesthetic and painted with bright colors, and the greenery of the place puts more life into the hill, it’s the people Jeongin’s bothered with. Middle class to low-class profiles were hanging around bars and cafes, smoking their tobacco, and playing their songs that Jeongin wasn’t quite used to. He’s used to elegance; he’s used to fine dining, shiny floors, proper etiquette, and polite manners. Montmartre, on the other hand, is filled with people opposite from the likes of him, and the tall man next to him was no exception. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The boy’s lost, I’m telling you!” Jeongin fights the urge to turn back and glare at the person who said that, dingy peals of laughter filling the air in pure spite and mockery, or that’s what Jeongin likes to think. The man lets out a burst of airy laughter right behind him and crosses his arms, facing Jeongin’s back. “Leaving so soon? You haven’t even seen Montematre at its peak of magic.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Magic?” Jeongin snorts. He doesn’t believe what this bohemian is actually saying. “There’s nothing magical about this place, not at all. Just tell me where the nearest pier is and I’ll be on my way back to the Latin Quarters before sunset.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The bohemian blinks once, twice, before bursting out in hearty laughter that takes Jeongin aback quite literally. “Latin Quarters? You’re all the way from the West,</span>
  <em>
    <span> jeune renard</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You’re currently in the North of Paris.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, he’s in the North of Paris. He knew his ways around the city of love, as people would call it around these areas. The man didn’t need to remind him of the Basilique du </span>
  <span>Sacré-Cœur, which stood at the summit of Montmatre, and neither did he need to be reminded that he was at the heart of Paris. Jeongin’s three arrondissements and a river bank’s away from his place, and yet here he is, stuck in a district filled with middle to low-class people and bohemians such as the man beside him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” Jeongin turns to face the tall bohemian, sticking his hands inside his pockets. “Lead me to the nearest pier then, since you’re so sure of your directions.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“As if you aren’t. You’re a bourgeoisie. You’re supposed to know your way around Paris--the whole of France, in fact.” The man snorts, earning more laughter from his friends down at the porch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His retort enrages Jeongin as he feels ridiculed by the mockery of his own class from those below him. Taking one step forward, he pushes a finger against the bohemian’s chest, face contorted with rage and pride. “What makes you think you’re so special, bohemian? I only asked for you to take me to the pier before sunset, and I even asked nicely. Who gave you the right to prejudice me from the likes of you?!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a resounding “ooh” that comes from the little audience watching the two mid-argument, and Jeongin smirks when he finds the bohemian off-guard for a split second. Returning back to his senses, he lets out a scoff that lifts even his shoulders up and holds the finger rested on his chest. “I’m more of a vagabond, thanks, and you didn’t ask nicely.” He pushes the finger away from his chest and folds his arms. “Also, I wasn’t jaundicing you. I was just wondering why a bourgeoisie such as you would end up in a place such as Montmartre. Alright, then. Let’s bring you to the pier since you ‘asked nicely’.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jeongin rolls his eyes at the air quotes the tall bohemian put at the last bit and just storms off, wanting to hear no more of the bohemian--no, vagabond’s qualms. As much as he hates to say it, he wonders how this piece of parchment even led him to the eighteenth arrondissement. He doesn’t want to be those types of romantic poets who would focus on the odd concept of “soulmates”, and neither doesn’t he want to believe that it was magic that brought him to the heart of Paris. May it be fate that the voice tells him at the back of his mind, but Jeongin has no time for fate, destiny, soulmates, and magic. He had just gotten into Oxford and he isn’t letting that go easily. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Jeongin storms off, the vagabond is left behind as he watches the peculiar boy stomp off in pride. He scoffs an amused, yet rather fond smile, and shakes his head at the mess he’s gotten himself into. “Uh, he does know that the pier is in the opposite way, right, Hyunjin?” One of his dearest friends, Felix, goes up to him while worriedly glancing at the boy. “Oh, he’ll figure it out.” Hyunjin remarks and tugs his baggy button-down to the side, ready to embark on another journey as he’s always used to doing. “The </span>
  <em>
    <span>jeune renard </span>
  </em>
  <span>is a Sorbonne scholar turned Oxfordian. Although, I’m positive he’ll lose himself in the magic of Montmartre. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mon dieu</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’s already doing it!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Felix looks at Hyunjin as he says this and snorts in amusement when he sees a bright smile and glittering sparkles on his irises staring ahead at the figure, similar to when he first encountered him. “You and your romantics. You fancy him, don’t you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?!” Hyunjin whips his head towards his friend, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “W-What makes you think that I’m possibly infatuated--” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Jeongin calls from a distance. “Are you taking me to the pier or not?” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>Hyunjin takes one look at the boy, then at Felix, who only shakes his head and claps his shoulder. “You can’t say no to a </span>
  <span>bourgeoisie</span>
  <span>.” And with that, Hyunjin is set into leading the fussy boy out of Montmartre, but with a small plan brewing on his head. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. the journey begins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The walk back to the pier is suffocating for Jeongin. With the vagabond on his side, whistling those annoying tunes and prodding on Jeongin every two seconds as if he were a detective interrogating him for his life story, Jeongin begins to think that sharing an adventure with him would be a complete mistake. May it be the numerous bombarding of questions from the talkative male balancing on bridges right beside him, or may it be the tremendous amount of mosquitoes and bees swatting around Jeongin’s legs each time they pass by grassy slopes, Jeongin was starting to find home much better than Montmartre. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” Hyunjin muses, hands held on his back as he tries to balance himself in one of the railings, “Oxford, huh? Are you from the University of Paris or something?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If only Jeongin could roll his eyes as much as he could. Unfortunately, each roll only caused his head more strain. “No.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A hum. “Pierre et Marie Curie?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Place de la Sorbonne?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you zip your mouth for just five minutes? Please?” Jeongin snaps, sighing in relief when the bohemian shuts his mouth. This way, Jeongin can have some peace and quiet to himself, focusing on training his own thoughts to possible scenarios of his family's reaction to his sudden absence. He realizes that his family was all he ever thought about this entire day, perhaps the entire time since he got his letter. Sadly, he raises the parchment to gain one look at it before sighing into the wind. He knew that some acceptance letter isn’t going to excuse him from straying away to the eighteenth arrondissement like that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His thoughts are disrupted with that obnoxious voice coming from the vagabond, and Jeongin swears he could throw a rock at him to make sure he doesn’t speak for a while. “Worried about what your family will say once you get back?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s none of your business.” Jeongin bites, shoving the letter back into his trenchcoat. He ends up staring ahead, hoping for the river banks to appear at his sight any moment. He barely registers the amused hum his companion makes along with the pitter-patter of his feet landing swiftly on the ground once they’ve reached the end of the bridge. “Was only trying to strike up a conversation. You’re boring to be around with.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That stops Jeongin on his heels as he whirls around to spare the vagabond a glare. “Boring?! I’m sorry, I don’t recall you asking me to entertain you!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not asking to be entertained, </span>
  <em>
    <span>jeune renard</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” The man exclaims, throwing his hands up to rest it on the back of his head. He’s awfully chirpy for a person who has just been glared at, and that alone gives Jeongin more of a reason to smash his head on a wall and leave him to rot. “Is it bad that I want to get to know the person I’m talking to?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Snorting, Jeongin begins to brisk walk yet again, the bohemian soon jogging to meet his pace. “Well, you already know what I am. You said it a while ago while your little group of friends and you were making a fool out of me. Indeed, I am a bourgeoisie who doesn’t know a single spec of dirt around these areas because I was too focused on trying to appease my parents with some letter that can get them to their good graces!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jeongin doesn’t mean to lash out like that, he really doesn’t, but when he’s caught between a chatterbox and a whole family to dread for once he arrives back home, he just can’t help but let out his frustrations. This was supposed to be the best day of his entire life, yet everything just had to come to ruins when he came to Montmartre. Magic my ass, Jeongin sulks to himself, just how do you think that shattering my lifelong dream is considered magic? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jeongin doesn’t notice it, but the sun has already begun to set towards the outskirts of the eighteenth arrondissement. The sky has turned into a lush peach and violet gradient, the clouds morphed into cumulus-cirrus clouds which stretched its lines across the horizon, the breeze has become exceptionally chilly, and the sea that sparkles on the hill the two walk by washes among the shores with its winged companions gliding over its waves, hoping to catch its food. The chilly breeze that wafts over the two doesn’t budge Jeongin, but it enraptures Hyunjin for the slightest bit before turning his gaze back to the downcast scholar. “Look beyond you,</span>
  <em>
    <span> jeune renard</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A scoff releases from Jeongin’s nostrils as he rolls his eyes. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mon dieu</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I rant about my misery while you have time to</span>
  <em>
    <span> look beyond</span>
  </em>
  <span>? I’m rather--” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, as Jeongin lifts his head, he finds his words stuck on his throat once his eyes gloss over a whole new view of Montmartre; he swears he’s never looked at a view from the hill the same way again after seeing the same sky, the same clouds, the same sea, and the same birds that Hyunjin had seen. It was...fascinating--no, beautiful. Why hadn’t he seen this before? He knows he’s been on hills with similar views, but no view is more magnificent than this one. It almost seems enchanted, like there was something that turned this entire place into something magical. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“W-Wow…” Jeongin stops in his tracks, finally allowing the breeze to take over him as he takes in the view. “When...How did this become like...this?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hyunjin steps right beside Jeongin to admire the scene before them, releasing a breathy chuckle that lifts his spirits high into the clouds. “Interesting choice of words.” Jeongin doesn’t even have the strength to swat his companion’s shoulder. “You see,</span>
  <em>
    <span> jeune renard</span>
  </em>
  <span>? This is what I meant by magic. These shores, these skies...doesn’t it bring you life? Doesn’t it make you feel free like a bird? I could almost feel myself being lifted from the ground and into the winds.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jeongin tears his gaze from the view to Hyunjin, and he can’t help but chuckle when he finds the vagabond on his tippy-toes and his arms outstretched as if he were literally ascending into the heavens. “And you tell me that I have an interesting choice of words. You look like a fool right now.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Says the fool who’s staying footed on the ground. Come,</span>
  <em>
    <span> jeune renard</span>
  </em>
  <span>, fly with me!” Hyunjin exclaims, dashing around Jeongin with his arms flapping as if he were a bird himself. The scholar shakes his head at his weird antics and tries to avoid him by walking, but he is stopped by a hand on his wrist, and a huge smile beaming on Hyunjin’s face. “Come, let me show you where the real magic happens.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jeongin would’ve snatched his wrist away and denied the bohemian with a flat ‘no’, but he found himself struggling to say it. As much as he wanted to leave this godforsaken place and deal with the consequences of his actions, it was suddenly hard for him to turn down such a tempting offer from Hyunjin. How could he, when those sparkling eyes and childish smile made all his insides turn to mush? It was only then when Jeongin began to realize that it wasn’t just the view that was making things seem magical for him, but Hyunjin. Of course, he was going to deny that. He still doesn’t believe in fate and magic, and he most certainly doesn’t believe in soulmates. Yet, there was something about the bohemian with the glimmering rings on his hands and the eccentric outfit that he was wearing that seemed undeniable to Jeongin, and he didn’t know what it was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t think that any sort of reasoning can help me out here. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, with finality (with a bit of hesitation), Jeongin does snatch his wrist away from the beaming bohemian, but instead of the usual disgusted look that he gave him a few devastating walks ago, he sported him with a glint of curiosity and playful mockery. “And where will you be taking me, o wise magician?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The “wise magician” in question bursts out in laughter that Jeongin hasn’t heard since their first meeting, and before Jeongin even has the time to concern himself with his strange companion, Hyunjin grabs his wrist again and dashes towards the bridge, leading him further to Jeongin’s planned destination. “You’ll see!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Two words. Two words, yet Jeongin could feel the thrill and excitement coming out of his mouth. Confusion long gone and a grin in place, Jeongin’s glad that Hyunjin didn’t even dare turn back to face the brewing exhilaration on his face as they ran past bridges and bustling grass. Parchment no longer weighing on his pocket, feet springy and light as they patted against soil, Jeongin didn’t know that he was up for an adventure that would certainly change his life.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. the magic of montmartre</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clé des Souvenirs is alight with wax candles and moth-fluttering front lamps when Jeongin enters, and he is immediately hit with the smell of freshly cooked stew and heaves of fresh palm oil wafting through the whole cafe. He hears cheerful laughter, the clinking of beer glasses, squeals of women, and a lively tune being played on the platform. If Jeongin were to be honest, this cafe is nothing close to his preferred taste. He prefers fine dining, where croissants are spread with creamy butter and tea is served with sugar cubes and milk beside his ready-made plate of mutton and mashed potatoes. Forgive his tastes, but it’s what he’s become used to. </p><p> </p><p>“<em>Mon amis</em>!” Jeongin turns his gaze from the interior to Hyunjin, who waves his hand at a couple of men seated together right next to the bar. He then realizes that those were the same people who made a fool out of him earlier with his first encounter with Hyunjin. Jeongin suddenly has half a mind to beat those men to a pulp for mocking him, but all anger was diminished when Hyunjin engulfs them into a huge hug, even smothering them with kisses that surely took him aback. </p><p> </p><p>“Miss us already?” One of Hyunjin’s friends surmises, cocking a smirk up that surely did not faze Hyunjin. He reminded Jeongin of a cat. He definitely had the features of one; sharp eyes, curled lips that he swears he can see imaginary whiskers growing out from his upper lip. “I mean, he sure did.” Another one sighs, wiping off any remainder of saliva that their bohemian friend left on his face. Now this one reminds Jeongin of the literal sun. He’s got those freckles that help the innocence of his look despite how low his voice is, and his smiles are literally blinding. “He’s got his saliva all over my face!” </p><p> </p><p>“Aw, come on you two!” Hyunjin slings both of his arms over their shoulders and brings them closer to him. “I haven’t seen you both in ages! It was just unfortunate enough that my <em>jeune renard</em> just had to interrupt our reunion.” </p><p> </p><p><em>My jeune renard</em>?! <em>Unfortunate</em>?! “Ah, yes. That little bourgeoise of yours, has he gone off yet?” Catboy muses, stirring his whiskey. “He put up quite a show out there, no?” </p><p> </p><p>“I think he’s cute.” Sunshine Boy perks back, popping in a peanut as he looks at his other two friends. <em>Do they even know I’m here?! </em>Jeongin stares at Sunshine Boy in complete shock, amazed at how open he can be when it comes to terms of fancying. Back at home, if he were to say things like those, his father would have him grounded in his room with prayers to recite and transcripts to scribble. “I think he has some nerve coming all the way here to Montmartre. The boy said it himself; he doesn’t belong here!”</p><p> </p><p>Jeongin had to say, he was feeling a tad bit left out with those people, with everything, actually. Sunshine Boy was right. He didn’t belong here. Each rowdy yell from some travelers, each chug of their finest beer, it was all too...barbaric for Jeongin. He feels that if he stayed there a bit longer, he would begin to lose his mind. Hell, he’s already losing his mind by just standing in the middle of everything like a king in checkmate. He knows that this isn’t a surprise coming from him, but he just wants to go home. He doesn’t know how the bohemian convinced him to even stay. In fact, the bohemian isn’t even paying attention to him!</p><p> </p><p>Irked, the scholar makes his way up to where Hyunjin sits with Catboy and Sunshine Boy, and taps on his shoulder so that he grabs his attention. “I’m sorry, but you’re wasting my time over here. You say that you’ll show me something magical, and I assume that this is that “something magical”? I believe I requested for you to take me back to the pier before sunset, so take me back <em>now</em>.” </p><p> </p><p>Jeongin doesn’t even spare the familiar “oohs” that he heard from across the room as he finds his glare transfixed on the vagabond, who lets out a defeated sigh and raises his hands up in the air in surrender. “I’m sorry, alright? Sheesh, can’t a poor man just talk to his friends for a bit?” </p><p> </p><p>That’s it. Jeongin’s had enough of this tomfoolery. “Listen here, bohemian--” </p><p> </p><p>“It’s Hyunjin, mind you. The “bohemian” you speak of has a name.” </p><p> </p><p>Jeongin doesn’t know why, but after the bohemian--Hyunjin--said his name, there was something that changed in the atmosphere between them. Hyunjin was still all smug smiles and teasing looks, yet Jeongin felt like he just saw a revelation. It felt weird, but he wasn’t going to back down just because of some odd feeling that churned in his stomach. “Alright, Hyunjin. I don’t know if you know proper etiquette, but it is considered rude to keep your companion waiting.” </p><p> </p><p>Hyunjin hums in response, completely unaffected by Jeongin’s offense. “Why. forgive me Your Majesty, but I was just talking my friends into telling me some of the best places here in Montmartre.” </p><p> </p><p>This sets Jeongin off track, the scowl on his face morphing into confusion. “What? You told me that you knew Montmartre like the back of your palm!” </p><p>Hyunjin raises a finger at Jeongin, chuckling at him. “Correction: I did not say that I knew Montmartre like the back of my palm. I only said that you should see Montmartre at its peak of magic. Dear me, did you not listen to my qualms a while ago, or were you too hellbent with formulating with a plan to put my head on a pike?” </p><p> </p><p>There it is again. That same obnoxious laughter coming from the two that Jeongin wants to punch right off their stupid little faces no matter how good-looking they may look. If Jeongin had a euro for every time he wanted to brawl some lowlives, he would be stinking rich, and that’s already saying something. “Whatever!” He quips, crossing his arms and looking elsewhere, leaving that as a sign for Hyunjin to officially wrap things up with his reunion. “Well, you heard me. Any places you two might want to suggest while I’m here?” </p><p> </p><p><em>While he’s here?</em> Jeongin furrows his brows. He doesn’t like the sound of that. “Take him to the Sacre-Coeur.” Catboy states as-a-matter-of-factly. “It’s up the hill, it’s holy.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh, oh! Take him to the Moulin Rouge. It’s big here in Montmartre!” Sunshine Boy insists, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “You said you wanted someplace ‘magical’, so take the jeune renard to the Rouge. Maybe he’ll learn a thing or two about living among our people, you know?” </p><p> </p><p>Hyunjin’s eyes shimmer with glitter of something that he fully can’t comprehend, taking into heart what Felix told him. His gaze meets the jittery scholar, who was currently trying to adapt to his newfound surroundings by at least ordering a pint of beer. The bohemian continues to watch as Jeongin makes small talk with the bartender, though the nervousness is definitely evident in his eyes. He could see him take the beer mug in his hands and stare in wonder at how the bubble fizzes on top before taking hesitant sips to gauge how the liquor burned his throat. It wasn’t any surprise to Hyunjin that Jeongin instantly cringed at the taste. He must be used to sparkling champagne or freshly-squeezed wine from their oh-so-fancy vineyards. Nevertheless, Hyunjin smiles at how Jeongin was attempting to get used to his likes. It’s definitely a stark contrast to his arrogant and prideful nature the last time. </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps Hyunjin had been staring for too long, for he’s immediately brought back to his senses when a chunk of bread hits his hair. “Ow--! What the hell, Minho?!” </p><p> </p><p>“You are terribly fond of that bourgeoise boy.” Minho, or more known as Catboy in Jeongin’s terms, shakes his head at his bohemian friend whilst retrieving the chunk of bread from the table. He isn’t even affected when Hyunjin sends him a glare. After all, how could Minho cower in his glare when Hyunjin has his cheeks flustered red like it was forty degrees celsius in the bar? “F-Fond?! You must be mistaken. I like women, alright, and nothing more!” </p><p> </p><p>“I did not say that you fancied him.” Minho retorts back, smirking into his cup of mead. Felix, or Sunshine Boy, just sighs at the impending bickering that the two are about to commence, but it’s thankfully cut short when Jeongin intervenes with his cheeks flushed pink and eyes slightly hazy. The boy probably had drunk the whole pint in one go. “Hey, I don’t mean to interrupt, but we should be going now! You know, to this mystical land that is Montmartre.” He swings his arms around as he slurs the words out of his blabbering mouth. “I am very eager and superbly ecstatic to see what my bohemian friend wants to show me, considering that he so desperately wants me to stay and have my parents behead me for such a bold stunt.” Jeongin giggles and slings a shoulder over Felix and Minho, and not one bit does he hesitate when he zooms his face into Hyunjin, dragging his poor friends along with him. “Show me the magic, monsieur.” </p><p> </p><p>And so he did, but it took Jeongin four glasses of water and three trips to the lieu until he was officially sobered up and ready to set foot off of Clé des Souvenirs. It’s already past sunset when the two trudge out of the bar with the bohemian’s support on a still slightly tipsy bourgeoisie. By this time, Montmartre’s lights began to illuminate the streets, as well as the tiny dots of stars that hung up on the orange-blue gradient sky. There are people that started filling the cobblestone sidewalks and carriages filling the streets, making the once-empty Montmartre a lively one. Of course, Jeongin didn’t spare enough time to revel in all of its beauty, but admittedly, so did Hyunjin. He was too busy checking on his tipsy friend to be able to take in the view. </p><p> </p><p>“Are you alright there, <em>jeune renard</em>?” Hyunjin asked. </p><p> </p><p>“A tad.” Jeongin replies a little too quickly, though he feels like he’s walking on thin ice. “I don’t think I’ve ever had mead before. Perhaps I underestimated its power.” </p><p> </p><p>A light chuckle escapes from Hyunjin’s lips, and Jeongin thinks it’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever heard -- well, aside from the orchestra that he hears during those secretive operatic nights with his stepbrother, Chan. “You talk of alcohol like it has some sort of magical power. Are you sure you’ve drunken any other alcohol before?” </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, but not as strong as this one.” Jeongin laughs, and contrary to popular belief, it’s music to Hyunjin’s ears. “I’ve practically lived my whole life on wine and champagne. Any other form of liquor is beneath me.” </p><p> </p><p>Hyunjin hums and looks forward. “I can’t say I’m not surprised. Mead can be hard to handle for first-timers like you.” </p><p> </p><p>“You say it as I’ve never drunk a single ounce of liquor in my life. Believe me, I know my limits to drinking.” A thought then enters Jeongin’s head as he speaks with Hyunjin. Why is he saying all of this to a man he barely even knows? They talk as if they’ve been friends since birth. May it be the leftover alcohol talking, Hyunjin’s charm, or even his genuine expression, but Jeongin didn’t stop talking. “I drink all the time during parties.”</p><p> </p><p>Hyunjin scoffs amusedly and nods at Jeongin’s remark. “Ah yes, the fine dining and the frilly dresses. The million-dollar suits and leather shoes. Tell me,<em> jeune renard</em>: how does one enjoy such boring, sophisticated extravaganzas?” </p><p> </p><p>The two make their way to the other side of the street, their feet allowing them to take them wherever they desire, or more on Hyunjin’s desire. “They’re not boring, mind you. They happen to be parties where we discuss politics and form alliances with other families. It is important that we hold such events for the sake of the future.”</p><p> </p><p>Hyunjin cringes at Jeongin’s explanation, fake-gagging at the thought of it. “It sounds terribly boring. I would rather dance to the lively music and toss my hat into the hair like a madman!” He twirls around and mimics a hat being thrown into the air as if he were in the party itself. He didn’t notice Jeongin’s face dropping at the mention of music, as his expression goes from relaxed to downcast. “...Music does not exist in my estate. My parents...they despise the music. I do not know the cause, but it seems that every time I suggest at least a small orchestra during parties, they would turn me down and call music “a disgrace to our bloodline”. It isn’t only me who feel this way. My stepbrother, Chan, was solely against the deprivation of music. Hence, he would take me out to see operas and bring me to real parties where there are music and dancing.” </p><p> </p><p>Jeongin hangs his head low, his eyes fixated on the cobblestones of the sidewalk they walk on. “This is why I can’t enjoy even the slightest bit of music. I feel like I will be caught by my parents if they found me listening to it.” </p><p> </p><p>It’s silent for that bit of the trip. Jeongin doesn’t realize it, but Hyunjin’s been frowning at him ever since his story. He doesn’t realize the sympathy and sadness that his bohemian friend sends him, doesn’t realize how badly Hyunjin wants to stop and hug him right there and then. Call him daring, but he really does look like he needs a hug. “But your parents aren’t here,<em> jeune renard</em>.” Jeongin also doesn’t realize how he suddenly doesn’t mind being called that name by him. “Do you really think that they’ll stop you here when they are a hundred miles away?” </p><p> </p><p>When Jeongin looks up at Hyunjin, he sees that bright smile he gave him hours ago, when the sun was setting and the wind was rising. He thinks it’s a beautiful smile, something very similar to his unique laugh. Jeongin suddenly feels warmth wash over him, and he can’t help but feel weird, and this newfound feeling. No, this is impossible. How can a complete stranger not only make my day but make my stomach do those weird flips? Jeongin definitely knows what this is. He’s read it in those novellas where the female lead’s heart skips a beat and her stomach does all of those topsy-turvy motions that could only be described as somersaults. He notices that those things only happen when the female lead encounters a handsome male lead, and usually, the two end up together, living their happy-ever-after.</p><p> </p><p>That’s the thing. The difference Jeongin has between him and the female lead is that he is nowhere inclined towards men, and he doubts that he’ll live his happy-ever-after considering the subtle misery his family puts him through like depriving him of his hobbies, filling his mind with expectations that he’s set to fulfill for the sake of France. Jeongin was once hellbent in getting into Oxford and becoming the greatest scholar of Paris, yet as he begins to spend more time with this peculiar vagabond named Hyunjin, his principles have begun to alter at the slightest. </p><p> </p><p>Jeongin doesn’t sit right with that idea. </p><p> </p><p>He shakes his head and averts his gaze from Hyunjin to the road ahead, completely ignoring the way his companion’s smile faltered at the lack of response. Instead, Jeongin settles with a topic change so that he could no longer dwell on these strange feelings bubbling in his chest. Although, he doubts that they’ll be gone by then. “Where is this “magic” you speak of, anyway? I feel like you’re just making this whole thing as an excuse to get to know me better.” </p><p> </p><p>Hyunjin suddenly bursts into one of his obnoxiously loud laughter yet again, and Jeongin looks around in panic and worries that there might be people staring. “Can you stop laughing?! You’re going to attract wolves with that laugh of yours!” </p><p> </p><p>‘I’m sorry!” Hyunjin yelps, clutching his stomach to hold himself from that hefty laugh he just let out. “You are one funny man, you know that<em> jeune renard</em>?” </p><p> </p><p>The scholar doesn’t even have time to retort to his remark for he is suddenly grabbed by the wrist and is yet again being pulled towards the end of the street. “Don’t you worry, monsieur! We are almost at our destination. Just hold my hand and don’t ever let go.” </p><p> </p><p><em>Don’t ever let go. </em>That very line cringes Jeongin to the core, but he supposes that he has no time to rebut it. Hyunjin’s too excited to even hear what he has to say, so Jeongin thinks that there’s no point in trying to reason with him. If he were to be honest, he’s feeling a little excited as well. Perhaps it’s the energy and free-spirited attitude that Hyunjin’s been giving off lately or the impending thrill that has been growing upon him since the encounter at the hill. Either way, Jeongin feels like the magic his bohemian friend speaks of his drawing near, and like a young boy being dragged to the nearest town festival by his stepbrother, he wouldn’t miss this for the world. </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. he is the magic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There’s an indescribable feeling that Jeongin has when he sets foot into what seems to be a market of sorts. There are stalls that stretch across the whole boulevard with their brightly-colored roofs and sacks of spices that are displayed for the citizens to feast their eyes upon. Jeongin hears salesmen advertising their products, consumers bargaining with prices, children squealing and running across the street – this is a sight that Jeongin is sure he doesn’t see often in the Latin Quarters. It’s as if the place was alight with merriment and loose worries. Surely enough, this is a new experience for the scholar, and he found himself wanting to get lost in these spaces. However, he stopped himself from falling deep into the roots of the city, and pulled himself back up to the surface. “What is this place?” He asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why, it’s the flea market!” Jeongin could hear the excitement laced in Hyunjin’s voice as he further explained. “It’s a must for you to visit the weekly flea market. They have amazing deals off 20 to 50%, and you can find almost anything you want here!” Hyunjin dashes through each stall, starry-eyed and greedy for every jewelry he sets his interest upon. “From the finest jewelry to the best quality meat, they have it all here at the flea market! It’s every man’s go-to spot around these corners.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hyunjin faced Jeongin and pointed a finger at him. “This place should be experienced by handsome scholars such as you, my friend! But don’t be fooled.” He swung an arm over Jeongin’s shoulders, and leaned close to stage-whisper at his ears. “This place is riddled with thieves and merchants. They’ll do whatever it takes to lay their hands on a bourgeoisie like you. So, may I suggest…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hyunjin doesn’t think that Jeongin notices him secretly sneaking out his lunch money and sliding it into his auburn robes, as Jeongin immediately snatches it back, eyes incredulous. “Excuse me, that’s my lunch money! I’m beginning to think that you’re the thief around these corners, Hyunjin!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was only going to keep your lunch money safe from these burglars!” Hyunjin defended, though the lie was evident in his voice. “It’s a cruel world out there,<em> jeune renard</em>. You’ll never know what’s lurking in the shadows…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jeongin knows that he’s only trying to scare him, brows wriggled and feigned caution written in his eyes. His face remains stoic and unimpressed at the bohemian’s attempt to frighten him, and pockets his lunch money in the inner pocket of his petticoat. “I know what I signed up for, you fool.” He then continues to walk the aisle, Hyunjin following shortly after, and takes a good look at each stall he passes by. “The flea market, huh…I haven’t really been here. It’s usually the maids in our estate that travel as far as here to get the supplies needed for our suppers. So this is how a flea market looks like…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hyunjin hums in response, arms thrown back over his head, smile as nostalgic as a memory. “Indeed. These flea markets are nothing compared to the flea markets in India and the Mediterranean. Those markets are definitely wider and various in spices!” A giggle escapes his lips at a memory he just remembered. “I remembered chatting with one of the kids in the Indian flea market. He was no longer than ten-years-old, a poor boy in the slums. He stole my bag of bread while I was busy shoplifting the rest.” He pays no attention to the way Jeongin’s eyes widened in shock at that last bit. “He said that he was hungry and his family was running low on food storage. I felt bad for the poor boy, and I said to myself, “Now is not the time to be selfish, Hyunjin!” So, I gave him my bread. Oh, if you could only see the smile on his face when I gave him the bag. He told me that I just saved his whole family a year’s worth of food.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Hyunjin narrates his experience, the scholar’s heart began to swell with utmost joy, yet pity at the situation told. He never knew what it felt like to run out of food, never knew what it felt like to experience the gratitude and freedom that the boy in the story felt when Hyunjin gave him his bread, albeit stolen bread. The luxury spent at home was above par with the luxury experienced here. In a way, Jeongin wishes that he knew how it would feel like to feel immense gratitude over something he’s earned, something he’s accomplished. In a way, Jeongin wishes that he could thank somebody for saving his life, whether it’d be in a near-death experience, or merely saving him from this hell he’s living. He wonders if the two are the same thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And when Hyunjin smiles at the thought of that boy in his story, Jeongin also wonders if he could smile at him like that. He wonders if Hyunjin could save him from the so-called hell he’s currently living in. However, all thoughts are suddenly diminished and replaced with confusion as to why he was suddenly yearning for such a thing from his bohemian friend. What did this man have to gain from his life? Why did Hyunjin’s opinions suddenly matter to Jeongin, when a few hours prior, he wished he never stated his opinions on anything?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Some people would call it “The Hyunjin Effect”, but Jeongin would rather call it a hindrance to society.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lost in conflict for too long, Jeongin doesn’t realize that he’s halted in his place, waiting for Hyunjin who’s currently stopped in front of a jewelry stall. He sees Hyunjin making idle chat with the saleswoman, fingers ghosting over some second-hand rings and bracelets that wouldn’t even interest Jeongin. Although, it seems to interest the man, for his eyes glint in something that Jeongin can’t quite comprehend, and a smile that suddenly graces his lips at the touch of his fingertips at a shimmering sapphire brooch. The softness of his expression on the brooch does something to Jeongin’s insides yet again, and the feeling doesn’t die down when the bohemian looks absolutely stunning underneath the orange light; the soft bounce of his jet-black hair, the slope of his nose accented and defined by the light, the stretch of his plump lips in a smile that Jeongin thinks is another beautiful sight to see. He doesn’t understand why this is happening all of a sudden, but one thing’s for sure: he needs to start reevaluating his sexual preferences.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later, Hyunjin finally makes it back to Jeongin. “I’ve got what I wanted. Is there anything you want here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jeongin looks down at the item he purchased, and notices that it’s the same sapphire brooch he was looming over a while ago. He snorts at the item and looks back up at Hyunjin. “A brooch? Is that for a special lady, monsieur?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No. I’m gay.” Hyunjin simply says and pockets the brooch, unfazed at the next shocked face that his companion gives him tonight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“T-Then,” Jeongin’s suddenly at a loss for words. For some reason, why does he feel relieved to hear that he isn’t interested in women? “A special…man?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why, you jealous?” Hyunjin smirks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jeongin raises his brows at the teasing smirk that the bohemian gives him, and out of defense, he punches his shoulder and glares at him. “I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> jealous! Why would I be jealous? You don’t even matter to me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tall man gasps and imitates an arrow being shot to his heart, as he staggers in his place and sways ever-so-slightly as if he were about to faint. “Oh, somebody catch me, I think I’m about to faint. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>jeune renard</span>
  </em>
  <span> has officially neglected me. I shall die a lonely man.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then perish.” Jeongin retorts finally, turning his back on Hyunjin and leaving him dramatically splayed on the ground. Just as he turns around to take his steps, he halts when he hears a group of performers chattering amongst themselves, making their way down to a spot that Jeongin piques his curiosity to. He manages to catch a bit of their conversation, and he’s even more intrigued when one of them mentions a very familiar cabaret that he’s sworn he’s only heard stories from his housekeepers. “The Moulin Rouge, isn’t that great?!” One perks, holding her violin case close to her. “We get to perform in the biggest cabaret of the entire country! Every musician would kill to get their hands on a stage in that place. This is a dream come true, everybody!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Followed shortly by cheers of affirmation, the group makes their way further into the spot, unaware that a scholar has been listening in to their conversation with wide ears. His eyes begin to gleam underneath the lampposts of the streets beyond him, and an urge begins to settle in his heart. “The Moulin Rouge…” Jeongin mutters under his breath. To say he isn’t fascinated is an understatement. The violinist is right; it is a dream come true to be setting foot upon the famous cabaret. He could already imagine the ladies in frilly dresses and thigh-length pantyhoses lifting their legs up in the air to the delight of the lively music playing on the wide stage, the merry laughter and squeals of joy as they dance the night away. It is but a dream for Jeongin to experience the liberty of such a party, yet his family never condoned him to such a thing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a small revelation, Jeongin realizes that he hasn’t thought about his acceptance letter since dusk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jeongin barely registers Hyunjin making his way behind him, patting his dusted trousers and slinging his scarf over his neck. “Whatcha thinking about over there, </span>
  <em>
    <span>jeune renard</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The scholar faces the bohemian with bright eyes, one that burns with a fire that nobody has ever seen until now. “I want to go to the Moulin Rouge.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the flames of his irises burn brighter into Hyunjin’s skull, the vagabond’s heart soars into the night sky at the scholar’s newfound interest. Excitement churning in his stomach, adventure seeping into his veins, Hyunjin’s just about ready to show Jeongin where the real magic happens, just as he has been mentioning all this while. The scholar that he sought a few hours ago has suddenly begun to differ in Montmartre’s nightly views; gone was the arrogant, petty demeanor that the young man exhibited, as it has now been replaced with a wildling out of its cage, and into where he wants to belong, where he will belong. It’s as if a young fox had just come out of its comfort place, seeing the world beyond by prancing out of its usual resting spot. Jeongin is no different from that fox. Jeongin, who is very new to this world that Hyunjin’s living in, begins to invest himself in a journey he’s never experienced before, and Hyunjin’s glad that he gets to be the one who leads him to it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s also glad that he gets to see the wide smile on his lips, and the brightness of his irises at the thought of some cabaret that Hyunjin’s been to a thousand times. He thinks it’s endearing, but he doesn’t comment on it anymore. Riddled with a chance, Hyunjin snatches Joengin’s wrist and dashes towards the famous Rouge, yelling, “Well, what are we waiting for?!” while laughing cheerfully, Jeongin laughing after.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After what seems to be mere minutes of chasing each other, they finally make their stop in front of the cabaret. Jeongin is alight with fascination and discovery at the visuals of the famous nightlife establishment, tracing his sight over the flashy signs and the architecture that stood way up until the end of the designed windmill that Jeongin understood to be a famous structure in the hills of Montmartre. However, he knows that windmills are usually made of tin or steel, so they usually aren’t as bright and noisy as this one. He already hears the distant music playing inside the Rouge along with those cheeky laughs and heaps of cheers at every musical note that has been playing. Exhilaration begins to bubble in his gut, and unexpectedly, he jumps up and down while tugging at his companion’s sleeves, gaze never leaving the interior. “Let’s go, let’s go!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Easy<em>, jeune renard</em>!” Hyunjin laughs heartily, grabbing a hold of Jeongin’s hand and finally leading him inside Moulin Rouge’s open doors. Jeongin doesn’t have the time to react to the way Hyunjin’s hand easily slips with his own, for his own delight has finally brought him into the life of the party. It is just as his housekeepers had described it: the frilly dresses, the lively music playing, the drinks being served, the people expressing their freedom away from this cruel world. Jeongin feels like he can levitate just by finally being able to experience this. For once, he feels like he can fly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His momentary ascension to Moulin Rouge heaven has been suddenly stopped, however, when he feels Hyunjin’s hands slip from him. Panic suddenly washes over Jeongin’s face as he sees a crowd pulling Hyunjin into their well-known dance called the “can-can”, beckoning him to join in the fun. He sees Hyunjin trying to explain that he doesn’t intend to dance yet, seeing as he still has company, but the crowd doesn’t listen and cheers in response, leaving the bohemian no choice but to grin apologetically at Jeongin. “Just have fun!” He yells, but Jeongin doesn’t get to hear it due to the overbearing tune of the music and the merriment of the dancers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh no.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He thinks to himself as he scans his suddenly unfamiliar surroundings, feeling lost. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What should I do now?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“H-Hyunjin…” His voice has never been this small – well, it has during some points of his life, but his father never liked the sound of it. It showed weakness and hesitation. It showed that he couldn’t do it, couldn’t excel the way his father wanted him to. In an entirely different setting, a different world that Jeongin’s currently in, he couldn’t help but feel inferior to it all, which is ironic considering his social status. Fantasies of a new journey that kept on playing in his head have suddenly withered into reality, and suddenly, the joyous crowd became overwhelming for Jeongin, and the place no longer felt magical. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It felt terrifying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hyun—“ Jeongin tries to call out one last time, feet desperately trying to bring him to his bohemian friend. His heart is pounding louder than the drums on stage, his hands are perspiring, his vision is going misty and blurred as those obnoxiously loud voices cackle in his ear, taunting him and regressing him into an even smaller being. He bumps through people, bohemians and renowned figures alike, yet Jeongin has no time to apologize to them. Waiters waltz toward him with absinthe, and the smell of anise and alcohol intoxicates the scholar, making his vision ten times dizzier than the last time. Everything is happening at the same time, and Jeongin wants to do nothing more than to just curl up into a ball and shun himself from this suddenly unfamiliar world. I wish I was home.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, in the midst of the crowd, Jeongin finally finds him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At that very moment, Jeongin’s world stops turning; the figures are slowed in his peripheral, the music is halted, the room is brighter than before, and the only thing that can be heard is the thumping of Jeongin’s heart as he locks eyes with the man he had been searching for. In the midst of his slowed world, he sees Hyunjin mid-grin, eyelids wrinkling into a crescent smile, arms outstretched in a freeform dance that Jeongin has never seen before. With every movement, he’s as graceful as a swan flapping its wings, twirling and landing on its feet with such poise. Sure, Jeongin’s always seen the man as a liberating, uncanny fool, but this is different. As the young man marvels at the sight of his bohemian friend in the middle of the dancefloor, he couldn’t help but think that this is definitely the freest that Hyunjin has ever been.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And when Hyunjin’s gaze meets Jeongin through his slowed vision, when Hyunjin’s grin grows even brighter at the sight of seeing him, when Hyunjin’s loving gaze bore into the back of Jeongin’s head, he realizes that all this time, it wasn’t Montmartre that was causing the magic…but Hyunjin. Hyunjin, the bohemian of Montmartre, is the sole reason for the magic seeping into the entire hill. Everywhere Jeongin looks, it was made mystical and almost fantasy-like because of him. The way his freedom allowed him to see the world as a fairy tale, and the way he shared his fantasy with Jeongin because he believes that everyone has a chance at living a free life. Upon entering Moulin Rouge, Jeongin was fascinated, clouded by the magic that Hyunjin helped him see, yet at that moment that their hands detached from each other, Jeongin was lost.  That had to be it. There’s no other explanation that can counter this. Hyunjin was more than just talking about magic, he is magic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>It was at that moment when Jeongin decided that he was completely and utterly in love with Hyunjin, and he didn’t care if his family, his friends, and his entire society were against it. Besides, how can they stop him if they’re miles away from where he currently stood? It was until then that Jeongin wanted Hyunjin to show him the world, if not the</span> <em><span>whole</span></em><span> world, then </span><em><span>his</span></em><span> world.</span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jeongin’s world starts spinning back to reality, the dancers resuming their usual routine, the music playing as lively as ever. The feeling that Jeongin has is a stark contrast to what he was feeling earlier, for a change of heart has made him secure and reassured now that he found Hyunjin. He doesn’t complain when Hyunjin makes his way to him, pulling him in to dance with him, and neither does he complain when Hyunjin holds him close to him, dividing Jeongin from the world around him. For the first time in his life, Jeongin’s smiles are sincere and childish, and his heart is filled with so much love for the bohemian who, until now, has shown him what it means to be free.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And when Hyunjin accompanies Jeongin back to the pier after that, the mood is light and the two are happier than ever. The hostility that the both of them – or rather Jeongin – exuded was no longer evident between them, and has now been replaced with utmost fondness and familiarity. “Shall I see you again?” Jeongin asks, stopping by the port and facing Hyunjin, who replies, “Of course. You want me? Just say my name and I’ll be right beside you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Flashing him a flirtatious wink, Jeongin snorts and shakes his head at the cheesiness of those words and kids the vagabond. “Is that so? What if I accidentally say something else like “Hassane”?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then I’ll still be there.” Hyunjin leans forward, smirking at Jeongin. “Hassane is my French name. Don’t think you can get away with me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>jeune renard</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jeongin laughs at Hyunjin for what seems to be the tenth time tonight, and lets his nickname echo in his head. He realizes that he didn’t tell his companion his real name, though he thought he didn’t need to at the time. After all, he expected to be off of Montmartre before the sun even set, but Hyunjin decided to turn things around. Not that he was complaining.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“…Jeongin.” Hyunjin tilts his head along with a hum when the scholar suddenly blurts out his name, and Jeongin double-takes at how abrupt he must’ve sounded before chuckling shyly. “My name’s Jeongin.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jeongin…” Hyunjin mouths the syllables o</span>
  <span>n his mouth, perhaps to test the way it sounds when he calls him out. A smile then spreads on his lips as he says it, before looking up at the said man once more. “Very well then, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jeongin renard</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he chuckles along with Jeongin, both amused by the new nickname he gave him, “I shall see you again when the time calls for it. Safe travels.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The scholar nods at the bohemian, even though he’s hesitant to go. He wishes that he could stay longer and spend more time with Hyunjin, but he knows that the both of them lead separate lives. A family and his education awaits Jeongin back home, and if he dared to stay any longer in Montmartre, then he’s afraid that he’ll stay forever. It’s the place that made him want to stay – no, it’s Hyunjin that made him want to stay, but all things must come to an end at some point.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> So, as Jeongin steps aboard the ferry, he takes one look back at the port and sees Hyunjin looking up at him, one hand tucked inside his ragged marron petticoat, and the other hand waving up at him whilst a smile stays on his face. He waves back, the sudden feeling of longing growing in his chest as the ferry ships off further from the hill. Jeongin knows what awaits him back at home, but he isn’t afraid to face the consequences. He knows that some acceptance letter won’t help him redeem himself, and honestly, Jeongin thinks he doesn’t need redeeming. He already feels redeemed by just that whole encounter with Hyunjin, and aside from the blossoming love sprouting in his heart, he feels too rejuvenated that he doesn’t think that the wrath of his parents will even affect him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I will be free. Just you wait. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. you will be free one day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>happy new year, guys <strike> even though we're 10 days into 2021 </strike>! the updates have been pretty slow because of holiday activities, and it might continue to be slower for these next couple of months because your girl's trying to get into her desired college ahaaaa wish me luck </p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Why does God have to leave me with such an irresponsible fool of a son!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is to be expected. Jeongin had already anticipated this type of reaction from his parents the moment he arrived home at exactly nine-thirty in the evening without any supervision or even a simple telegram from his esteemed family. That didn’t mean that his father’s words still hurt him though. “Where on </span>
  <em>
    <span>earth</span>
  </em>
  <span> have you been, Jeongin?! We had the whole town searching for you!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is a pregnant silence in the air, the atmosphere sharp enough that it could slice through paper. It’s unexpectedly dim inside the Bang’s residence, the candles inside his father’s office melting down until the wick couldn’t take it anymore, the crackling of the fire beside him chilling his slightly shivering body, and most of all, the dawning of some of the most disappointed faces that the Bangs have yet to offer Jeongin. His father is seated in his huge chair, back facing Jeongin, while his mother glowers at him from beside her husband. Jeongin also notices his stepbrother, Chan, who was leaning against the windowsill of his father’s gigantic window. His expression is grim, yet no malice or spite was laced in them, nothing like his stepparents. If Jeongin even dares to formulate some excuse, he knows he’ll be kicked out of the residence by dawn. He thinks that there’s no point in lying to them, seeing as they’re already irked enough. He wouldn’t want to add more salt to the wound in this devastating situation that he wishes it had never happened. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I…” Jeongin clears his throat of disuse. “I went to Montmartre.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This catches a reaction from the three with Chan lifting his head up, eyes as wide as saucers, and complete utter silence from the other two. It’s Jeongin’s mother who speaks up first, but her voice is nothing short of a small breath. “T-That’s three arrondissements away. How were you able to get there?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know…” Jeongin splutters, defeated. Up until now, he still doesn’t understand how he was able to make it across the riverbanks. His eyes were only transfixed on the Oxford letter that’s surprisingly still intact under his inner pocket, yet if he told his parents about it, they would never take that for an excuse. So much for celebrating my acceptance into Oxford, Jeongin thinks glumly to himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looks up afterward when he hears nothing from his father and pleads with conviction in his voice. “Father, please, it was only that one time. I promise, I’ll never stray again--” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jeongin.” His father snaps back and turns his chair around so that he can finally face his stepson. Jeongin wishes he hadn’t turned around to even look at him. His eyes are tantalizing and piercing, and his jaw is set tight enough that it looks like it would strain if he kept it that way for a little longer. Of all the things that Jeongin wanted to avoid, it was the impending wrath of his father. “This is nonsense you’re spewing out of your mouth. What fool would ever set foot in that dingy city? It’s infested with bohemians and lowlanders. A highly esteemed scholar such as you would be influenced by their ways, their filthy, promiscuous ways.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jeongin whips his head up at this, and for once, he dares to even glare at his own father. He doesn’t know why, but hearing his family talk of Hyunjin’s people like that makes his blood boil. “They aren’t filthy,” He raises his voice evenly, “and neither are they lowlanders. They are just the same as we are. They are still humans!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And who taught you that, hm?” His father bites back even harder, shying Jeongin back to his chair. “Did the Sorbonne scholars teach you that? Did we teach you that? No!” Rising from his chair, Jeongin’s father towers over his stepson’s smaller figure, reminding him that he is something who shouldn’t be talked back to. “You think you know the lowlands because you’ve been with them for, what, five hours? They’re fools, Jeongin. They don’t know the thing we know. We reign supremacy over them -- we are the future of France! I cannot afford this treasured knowledge of yours to be corrupted by some nonsensical ideologies caused by these so-called </span>
  <em>
    <span>bohemians</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The way he laces that last word out is filled with so much venom that Jeongin could almost taste it. He feels crushed by the outburst of his father, unredeemed by the sorrowful glances his stepbrother spares him, ashamed by the apprehensive gaze of his mother on him. Jeongin suddenly feels like an outsider to these people he calls his family, and perhaps that’s because he truly is one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Call him dramatic, but when was the last time that Jeongin ever felt real love from a parent’s touch? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At this moment, Jeongin doesn’t have the strength to fight back. He feels too overwhelmed by the current situation at hand, and his heart is crushed due to a dream in his head that is now crumbling and deteriorating into reality. He guesses that he’ll never feel validated no matter how much his stepbrother tries to convince him otherwise, and he feels that if he tried to defend his point, he knows that he won’t be defending it on behalf of the bohemians and the lowlanders. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’ll be defending it on behalf of Hyunjin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amidst the painstakingly quiet room, where only the fire crackles in the distance and the light tapping of the wind hits the windows, his father’s voice echoed through through the room. “Do you understand me, Jeongin? Do you understand the duty that you must fulfill to this family?” Then, he rises from his armchair and stares down at Jeongin like a lion cornering its cub. “Do you understand what we have made you go through in order to satisfy the needs of our society? Our country? You are a Bang, Jeongin. In this household, we furnish only the finest of scholars, the finest of aristocrats. You will not be a hindrance to the bloodline.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s slight malice in the next words that his father says. “If you should fail to do your duty, you can take your bastard last name and get the hell out of our sight. You will not do this to us again. Understood?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I understand, father.” Jeongin replies meekly, feeling hopeless. “I will disappoint you again.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the first time that night, Jeongin’s father smiles, but it’s not of the loving kind. “Good.” He turns his back on Jeongin once more and glances at his wife before looking at his myriad of books all stacked neatly from one shelf to the other, spreading his entire collection of books on the wall. “As of today, you are hereby grounded from any interaction under the school premises. You are not permitted to talk to your friends, and you are not permitted to step foot out of the household unless granted. You shall be homeschooled until you have realized your purpose in this family, and finally…” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jeongin doesn’t even need to think about the next word that spills out of his father’s mouth, but hearing it out loud sounds even worse than it did in his head. “You are to never set foot in Montmartre again. That city will lead you to doing conniving things. It’s for the greater good of this society.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nobody dared to speak or to move after Jeongin's father had finished his verdict. Jeongin knows that if he said something else, it would make his father even crosser than he already is. “You are dismissed.” His father finally says, and without a word, Jeongin eagerly steps out of his father’s office, ignoring all three sets of eyes trained on him before he feels them disappear as the doors close. His heart constricts against his ribcage, and he bites his lower lip to dial down the sobs as well as the tears that prickle on his eyelids. No, no, I will not be weak. I cannot allow myself to burst into tears in front of my father’s office. You are the future of this family, Jeongin! You heard what father said. If you disappoint him, you’ll be out of the household with your bastard last name hanging over you like a heavy sign.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Jeongin walks the dim corridors that night, when he takes slow steps up their grand staircase and makes his way to his huge room with renaissance paintings filling every side of his wall, misty white curtains flowing slightly from the wind coming from his veranda, and a wide study table filled with papers and bookshelves, the only thing that enters his sorrowful mind is, “I wonder how Hyunjin sleeps?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He trudges slowly towards his queen-sized bed, probably stuffed and tidied neatly for his own personal usage, and grasps the sheets to yank it off, but he suddenly halts midway. All that’s entering his mind right now is, “Hyunjin’s probably off at some inn sleeping underneath poorly maintained bed covers.” and “How can he even sleep like that? I can’t even bring myself to sit down next to locals on a ferry.” Jeongin then figures that it must be the pity that must be overwashing his mind, and though he knows not to pity the man, he couldn’t help but feel hit by a strong hammer that spelled “reality” in bold font. He’s beginning to see the bigger picture, something that stretches out from his usual vicinity, and it’s thanks to Hyunjin that he decided not to sleep that night and prop himself against the windowsill of his large window, gazing out into the Bang’s wide garden that probably stretched out hectares of land that no other man could afford. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Jeongin’s thoughts begin to cloud his mind to the point where the moonlight that hits his face turns brighter and brighter until it's the sun’s rays that illuminate the entire room. He could hear the early birds flying across the sky, the watering of the plants, the amiable chatter of his housekeepers as they hang the linens over the clothesline. By the time a knock resounds on Jeongin’s door, </span><span>t</span><span>he sky is crystal clear as the early afternoon slowly starts to seep in.</span> <span>Jeongin’s still glancing out of his window, my gaze transfixed on the soft sways of the bristling leaves of the fortune plant trees, and the gentle breeze slapping his cheeks, cooling his entire body. </span></p><p>
  <span>When Jeongin doesn’t answer the door, it opens, his stepbrother peeking in to check up on him. “Hey…” He says gently, opening the door wider so that he can see Jeongin better. “It’s half past 12 in the afternoon. You missed breakfast.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No response. Jeongin doesn’t pay his brother any heed and continues to stare out of the window. After last night, he doesn’t think that he can ever face his brother again. He feels betrayed by the fact that he didn’t step up for him that night as he would always do whenever he would get in trouble with playing with the handmaidens or pranking the chefs. The fact that his brother never even stood up for him in a matter such as this breaks his heart. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Chan doesn’t get a response after that, he sighs and looks around the corridor before stepping in and closing his door. “Listen, I know you’re all cooped up because of father’s words, but he had every right to lash out on you like that. You had him worried sick. You had </span>
  <em>
    <span>us </span>
  </em>
  <span>worried sick.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That didn’t seem like the case when he brought up the duty that I was destined to fulfill as a son of the Bangs.” Jeongin spits back, though his voice is coarse of disuse. He didn’t dare to look at his brother once again and glared out the window instead. “He saw me as a weak link to this family name, and I’m angry because he’s right.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, he isn’t.” Chan snaps, but Jeongin doesn’t have the strength to flinch at his brother’s harsh tone. He doesn’t even budge from his place when Chan storms to sit right beside him, his eyes full of conviction and reasoning. “You can’t allow father to eat you up like this. We know he’s a man of morals, but he’s just one man.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Jeongin responds icily. “One man that could tear down cities by his will, reign supremacy over the lowlands, maybe even have the ability to become the world’s greatest politician.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tears begin to well up on the corner of Jeongin’s eyelids, but he hurriedly bats them away with the sleeve of his school blazer that he obviously forgot to toss to the hamper last night. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You can’t cry in front of Chan. You can’t! He’s just the same as father, as mother, as all of them! You can’t let him see that you are the weak link of the whole family. </span>
  </em>
  <span>All these reassurances, yet Jeongin knows one that defeats this whole purpose of lamentation: Chan isn’t the same. He never was like them in the first place. Smart, sure. Charming, sure. Charismatic, sure. All these qualities that Jeongin can’t even count with his fingers, but condescending and strict isn’t one of them. Chan isn’t like his father, and Jeongin knows that. He knows that, but he still can’t take his mind off last night, where Chan was nothing short of his own father as well. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Chan breaks that. With a gentle touch of his hand on Jeongin’s perched knees, he spares his younger brother a sympathetic gaze that sends Jeongin in a wave of comfort. “Please, Jeongin. Try to understand. I know our parents aren’t exactly the best the world has to offer us, but in order to survive this, we must obey.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But…” Jeongin says, and this time, he doesn’t fight back his sniffles. “Why must we obey to these stupid expectations when we have the power to change them? Think about it, Chan. We are built in other people's expectations. We’re expected to be good sons, good students, good role models to society. For once, can’t we break that norm?” Then, he finally looks at Chan for the first time that afternoon, and the tears finally spill from his eyes, trickling down his cheeks. “Can’t we make our own expectations? Can’t we just be </span>
  <em>
    <span>free</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He cries when Chan hugs him tightly, cries when Chan caresses his hair and rocks him back and forth, cries when Chan props his head on top of the crown of his head and hushes him in attempt to cool him down. Despite his efforts to calm his dearest brother down, Chan feels conflicted about his question as well. “That’s a very good question, Innie,” he manages to mutter, “but in order to be free and out of people’s horrid expectations, we have to work hard for it. We need to make sacrifices for the good of ourselves in order to be free, even if it means getting out of it the hard way.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Chan then looks down at Jeongin and wipes his tears with his thumbs, sporting him a small smile. “You will be free one day, Jeongin. I just know it. You just need to work hard for it. Freedom is something that isn’t easily acquired, but with determination and a yearning for it, you can make it happen.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And when Jeongin gives Chan the best smile he could offer, he immediately pulls him into a hug, burying his face on his older brother’s chest. He could feel the vibrations of Chan’s body as he chuckles fondly, and melts further into his chest when he feels his hair being stroked. There’s a big spark of hope for Jeongin after that small talk, and he’s glad that Chan never failed to keep him on his feet. It’s why Jeongin admires him, actually. Not only is he the role model that Jeongin aspires to be, but his kindness and understanding can be a huge advantage to the future society. He’s grateful to have a brother like Chan. In this shitty society that Jeongin’s expected to be a part of, Chan is the only one who Jeongin can accept. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Chan.” Jeongin says when he pulls away from the hug and looks up to match the smile of his brother before glinting excitedly. “So! What’s for lunch?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, the usual,” Chan says lightheartedly, “but first we must get you out of that uniform. Have you  been moping around all night that you forgot to have a change of clothes?!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The room is suddenly filled with bright laughter and yells as Jeongin teases Chan by throwing his blanket at him, not a single tear shed again from last night's troubles. By this time, the sun is up high, and the birds soar high into the sky, traveling wherever the wind takes them. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>reach out to me on <a href="https://twitter.com/JISLUSTS"> twitter </a> or drop a <a href="https://curiouscat.me/BLISSJINS"> cc! </a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>